


Partners

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25371271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor requests backup.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Partners

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The television in the break room is on—Connor can faintly hear it from his desk, and when he concentrates, he can even follow pieces of the current story, but not nearly as well as the androids stationed around him can. They can likely follow the entire stream from beginning to end no matter the disparate noises that crop up all over the office or the primary programs they’re running. Most stay docked along the walls, charging even as they run plates and crime statistics. Their only GR800 isn’t there, but that’s nothing new. He is, after all, a special prototype with his own unique behavioral routines. It’s not a huge surprise to see him standing in the breaking room, staring up at the television like how a _human being_ would follow a broadcast.

“You’re not seriously gonna take it,” Hank grunts, probably following Connor’s gaze. 

“He can analyze evidence on the spot,” Connor points out—it’s a far cry better than waiting for the results from other teams. Not to mention the encyclopedia in the GR800’s head: it’s like bringing every police resource in existence around in his pocket, easily sorted and accessed. Connor has a feeling that for the particular crime scene he’s headed to, he’ll need it.

“It’s also an asshole,” Hank snorts. 

But Connor counters, “You think everyone is an asshole.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Bring Chris.”

Connor doesn’t even need to check over his shoulder—he knows Chris’ desk is empty, because unlike Hank, he keeps track of his coworkers’ cases and schedules. He also shows up early and stays late. He does all his paperwork on time. Hank often teases that Connor may as well be an android, except, unfortunately, Connor doesn’t have _real_ android capabilities.

He needs that. So he pushes up from his desk and wanders for the break room, calling behind him, “I’ll see you later, Lieutenant.”

Hank mutters something unintelligible and gets back to work, while Connor veers into the ill-equipped kitchenette and swiftly considers and rejects making a coffee while he’s there. He comes up right behind the GR800 and opens his mouth, but there’s no time for the words to come out.

The GR800 has superior hearing. He likely heard Connor’s footsteps approaching him. He turns on the spot and instantly snaps out, “What’d you want, Detective? You gonna ask me to get you coffee?” A perfect imitation of a sneer twists across his plastic lips. The stubble underneath them is eerily realistic, and scars from past cases litter his face, even though his synthetic skin’s capable of instant regeneration. He really does look _human_ , even _sounds_ human. He’s also a pointedly handsome man. He’s just also startlingly _salty_ —the programmers really went to town with his personality subroutines. He lifts his strong chin and reminds Connor, “I’m a detective model, dipshit. I’m not here to be your damn secretary—”

He also talks too much, and Connor cuts in, “I wanted to ask if you would join me on my case.”

The GR800’s mouth snaps shut. His eyes squint at Connor, then sweep down Connor’s body, assessing him, and Connor fidgets and fights a blush even though _he’s_ given the android that sweeping gaze before. Unfortunately, he knows he won’t pass with the same flying colours. He was born human and flawed, rather than engineered to be beautiful. 

Somehow, the cold glare doesn’t diminish the GR800’s magnetism. That, or Connor’s a glutton for punishment. He withers the storm that is the GR800’s scrutiny and waits for an answer. Technically, the GR800 doesn’t have to answer to anyone but the captain. He doesn’t _have_ to come along and lick thirium or blood out of Connor’s hand. He probably won’t—he doesn’t seem to get on that well with humans, Connor especially. 

For whatever reason, this time is different. The GR800 stiffly nods and mutters, “Lead the way, meat-bag.”

Connor’s contemplated affectionately quipping back ‘tin-can’ before. In the interest of professionalism, he resists. He heads off through the precinct and tries to ignore the GR800 and Hank giving each other the finger on the way out, because at the end of the day, they’re all good cops that just bleed different colours.


End file.
